


House of Cards

by TheRealSEHinton



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: M/M, johnny is dead still tee hee tee hee, so is mista dallas, some of these characters are jus mentioned, um this is all i can think of figffgyfgf, y'all pony is of age here so don't come for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSEHinton/pseuds/TheRealSEHinton
Summary: The inside of the building is almost suffocating. It’s all noise and heat and bodies, there's no space for me to breathe. And for a moment, I feel like a stranger in a place that should be so familiar. There's this pressure around me when I realize that's how I've always felt, all my life long.
Relationships: Ponyboy Curtis/Steve Randle
Comments: 20
Kudos: 45





	House of Cards

**Author's Note:**

> this is for chris, cuz steveboy, but also for mari because technically mari requested this.... technically

The inside of the building is almost suffocating. It’s all noise and heat and bodies, there's no space for me to breathe. And for a moment, I feel like a stranger in a place that should be so familiar. There's this pressure around me when I realize that's how I've always felt, all my life long… and that's when I realize that I need to go outside.

I'm already dashing through the crowded room and then rushing out of the door. And that's when I see him.

Steve Randle.

It was around the time that I was graduating when Sandy showed up at our door with her baby. Her light hair was in a loose ponytail over her shoulders and she wore a cardigan and long skirt, looking all sweet in the warm summer breeze. I had half a mind to leave her and that kid standing there and refuse to let them in, but Soda had already caught sight of her on the porch. 

When Soda came back from Vietnam, none of us thought he would ever be the same again. But one look at Sandy and he had that light in his eyes, the one I believed he lost so long ago. I guess I realized that I couldn't keep that from him, I couldn't take away his happiness no matter what I felt.

Sandy invited us out to lunch at the diner. We sat down and listened to her as she explained everything that happened. I guess in the heat of the moment, she never really took the time to tell Soda how it all went down. All she said was that she was pregnant and the baby wasn’t his. So we ate and listened to her story, listened to her apologies, listened to her exposition. 

She was hanging out with an ex, an old family friend of hers, her “first love,” and then all of the sudden she got drunk. She didn’t remember anything but she woke up the next morning in his bed with no clothes, no idea what happened, and a hangover. Her parents refused to let her get rid of the baby and they didn’t want her to raise it with another man, she had no choice but to leave Soda behind.

Soda kept his attention on her the whole time and held her hands and her gaze with his. It was the first time I had seen him so present, so grounded in reality, in forever. He was back in the real world and not off in his head, remembering and feeling awful things.

Darry and I were skeptical of her, but we saw Soda and the way he looked, we saw the way he played with that little boy, and we just knew that this was what he needed. This was his little escape, his own oasis. 

We all accepted Sandy pretty quick, at first for Soda’s sake but eventually her and her son grew into another branch of the family tree. It took Steve the longest to get used to her, he had always been a little bitter of Sandy after she left. But I guess I can understand why, he was Soda’s best friend and he probably saw a lot more behind the scenes than I did.

“I don’t trust that skirt,” he would say through gritted teeth.

I don’t really know if Sandy ever did grow on Steve. I was long gone before I saw that possibility.

At some point, I began to consider Tulsa a bad omen for me. I linked it with all the worst memories of my life, and there was a sense of dread I had every time I left the house. I would turn a certain corner and remember something different, all over like I was living through it again. 

It’s strange to think of, that sometimes I wake up and the first thing that greets me when I head outside is the place my parents died, or the hospital where my best friend took his last breath. It’s strange to think that my home feels like an endless bunch of death and nothingness. And yet I’m forced to look at it every day and walk around and pretend like it’s the place I wanna be in, like it’s the place I wanna stay at.

Darry did his best in the aftermath of Johnny and Dally. It was still strained, more so than I like to admit, but we made sure to stay out of each other’s ways and I did what he said when he asked and he didn’t bug me as much. He just wanted to make sure I was okay and I wanted to return the favor.

And right at the moment when Darry could finally breathe and stop worrying about taking care of his kid brother, because I wasn’t a kid anymore, that’s when Soda came back. It felt like we had taken three big steps forwards and now we were going five steps back.

A veteran, as it turns out, is a lot harder to manage than a grieving, teenage boy. You get a lot more outbursts, you get a lot more threats, you get a lot more restless nights wondering where the hell he’s run off to and what’s he doing and if he’s coming back. And nothing was the same, because when Soda changed Darry and I had to change with him.

Darry became a lot more distant, reserved, sensitive. He stopped treating me like he used to and whenever I rubbed him the wrong way he really got on my ass. I did my best to understand him, he had a lot on his plate. But suddenly there was another corner in Tulsa in which I didn’t feel like I belonged, and everything got a little darker.

That’s where Randy came in. On those lonely nights when I roamed around my town and said its name over and over to the point I almost forgot the place was real, he found me.

Randy told me that he had been all over the country. Any state you could possibly name, he’d visited. He talked on and on about the majesty of Mount Rushmore and the powerful waters of Niagara falls and the feeling of getting high as a kite with a bunch of familiar strangers in D.C. There was something about being around him, someone so confident in how his life was going, someone who thrived on the beauty of not having a single clue what he was doing.

Someone who was everything I wanted to be.

Darry was never too fond of my hanging out with Randy. He had a chip on his shoulder from the very beginning.

“That kid is no good,” he said. “Left home right after he graduated, didn’t say goodbye to no one. Didn’t go to college. Travels all around in that ramshack van and gets high everyday on God knows what. I don’t want that influence on you, Ponyboy. I don’t want you to end up like him.”

It didn’t really help anyone when he caught us tangled together in my room, he was supposed to be gone all day for work.

I know that, eventually, he tried to understand me. He tried to wrap his mind around what kind of person I was. But in that moment he lost all reason, all logic, all sense of himself. He beat Randy out of the house and yelled at me for hours and hours, and I was too shaken to yell back, too scared to run away. I spent that night alone, in my room, trembling, wondering what was going to happen to me. Wondering what I could do.

And when he calmed down, he wasn’t too concerned with accepting me. No, he really just wanted to figure out what made me this way. He said it himself, he wanted to know what he did wrong, he wanted to know why I felt the need to become what I became. Was it because I didn’t grow up with a father? Was it because he was a bad parental figure? He never pushed me to date girls like our dad pushed him. He never told me to stop drawing and dreaming and focusing on those damn books like dad used to.

How did I end up becoming such a mistake?

Then there was the moment, that one moment when Darry sat me down and looked straight into my eyes. And it was like he wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know what he had to apologize for, he didn’t know what he could do. And in the end, he just ended up saying, “This is hard for me too, Pony.”

And that’s when I knew, I just knew, that I had to leave.

I associated Tulsa with so many bad memories that it just became bad to me. There was a whole other world out there and all I saw was a whole lot of goodness I was ready to soak up. It didn’t meet my expectations, and I never really considered that possibility.

Everything seemed fine when Randy and I packed up in the middle of the night, when we drove off into the dark blue horizon. For a moment, it was all perfect. Like I had finally found the place I belonged. We spent our days drifting in nothingness, just the lazy feeling of skin and heat and the scent of pot and flowers. 

I met all kinds of people, people who didn’t really listen but they didn’t talk either. We all just kind of sat together and felt an energy, a certain buzz, and we shared that emotion and released it all. We got high and laughed and kissed and fucked and lived every day like we were never gonna die. There was this feeling that I can only describe as immortality, eternity. We had forever to think of, we were living in our own kind of heaven.

It was addictive, to say the least. And all too soon, I started forgetting about death.

That’s when everything came crashing down.

I didn’t immediately see it, not when Randy and I started using and shooting and snorting. Not when the nights became longer and the days became hungry aches for more, more, more. Not when I felt nothing but desire until I was able to get my hands on some kind of powder or needle. The recognition was a lot more gradual.

Maybe it started the day Randy and I were on that rooftop and he pulled the both of us to edge, insisting we could fly. And for a second I almost wanted to believe him, a single second, before I saw the ground and then it all crashed on me. I felt reality for the first time in so long, and it was cold and tangible and cruel. 

Maybe it started the day Randy and I were driving up that mountain, and the van was jumping up and sideways and bumping over all those rocks. Then I saw the cliff and I told him to stop and he didn’t listen to me. I was crying and screaming and begging him until this flashing feeling like light and life and death tore through my gut, and I was ready to fall. We didn’t. Randy was laughing uncontrollably over the steering wheel, his eyes were glazed over in some kind of ecstasy I couldn’t name. I just stared at him, feeling paralyzed, numb, anything but high or buzzed. He hadn’t yet realized that feeling, I could tell. I looked out the window and noticed how we were so so close to the deep end, if he just tapped the gas with his foot we’d be in the air and headed deep below. He never felt more alive, I felt like I had already died.

But I remember the day when my mind finally woke up. I had never felt so tired, in all my life. I was exhausted thinking about my past, my family, my friends, my present, Randy, the way we juggled life and death around like it was a game. There was this innate desire I had, it seemed to stem out of nowhere, and that was to forget it all. I just wanted a moment of peace, of calm, where I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

I was desperate for it. And when the first hit faded away I took another one. And then another one. I had never been so greedy, so needy, I just kept on taking and taking.

And then everything became hot, everything became dark. The world was crashing down on me like restless waves and I was looking for something to hold onto, there was nothing. My heart felt like it was crying out, screaming for something, running for something. Everything inside of me was running, like a hamster on a spinning wheel. Everything was fast, hot, scared, painful. I began to see Darry, I began to see my parents. I was in a flashing room with dozens of people I didn’t know, but there they were. They were asking me a question, their eyes were wide and expecting. My mother was watching me, my father was disappointed, him and Darry had to look away. I was going to call out to them to see me again, to save me, to hold me one more time, but my lungs weren’t working. I couldn’t breathe.

And I was so scared, but I was so fucking exhausted of everything. I needed to close my eyes. 

Randy’s voice pierced through the darkness, but it was all mumbled. Like he was trying to talk to me while we were underwater. I wonder what he looked like then, I wonder what he really said.

“Pony?”

“Hey, Pone?”

“Pony?”

“Ponyboy! Ponyboy, wake up!”

“Open your eyes!”

“Someone call an ambulance! Call 911!”

“Pony, look at me! Look at me, Pony!”

“Pony!”

Then there was silence. For a very long time.

Two years after leaving Tulsa, I landed in New York. I first started out working odd jobs, I was there for whoever needed me and I could do anything that made me a little money. When I had enough, I bought myself a camera, a sketchpad, and some drawing pencils. Wherever I was, I would take the time to stop and sit down for a second, find something like a tree or a flower, and then take a picture of it. Maybe I would draw it, maybe I wouldn’t. But I did a little photography to focus on the things in life that were beautiful while they were alive. There was something about making the most of limited time that appealed to me. I tried to focus on all the different ways I could experience and feel and touch to keep me away from my cravings, my memories, my thoughts.

Photography and drawing became lucrative, and I decided to take it up as a full time job. I bought myself an apartment and then a house and then I finally settled. It was like everything was falling into place, it felt like I was beginning to make amends with myself. I wanted to enjoy it, and I wanted to get rid of that pit of emptiness that grew everyday in my gut. 

I started sending letters to Soda, and this warm satisfaction flooded me when he wrote back. And I never told him about those nights with Randy and all those near-death experiences. I would indirectly ask Darry how he was doing, Darry would indirectly respond. Life became domestic that way. And now I get up in the mornings and drink coffee, then I meet with an employer and take their pictures, take a break and get some food, meet with someone else, go out at night, find a man, take him home, kiss him goodnight and buy him a cab, then shower and go to sleep and prepare to repeat the day.

It’s not enough, I don’t think. But I know how dangerous it can be when you endlessly pursue satisfaction. So I let myself find contentment in that little routine.

The illusion of my life became a safe bubble for me, and it all pops when I get the invitation. 

“Sodapop Patrick Curtis and Sandra Lee Johnson cordially invite you to witness their union, commitment, and love at…”

There’s no way to describe what I feel when I return to Tulsa. But for whatever reason, there’s this imminent guilt buried deep inside of me, prickling my stomach and the back of my neck. And it makes me feel cold and foreign. I haven’t been here in five years and it doesn’t feel like home. But then again, I don’t think it ever did.

Sandy and Soda rush to me when I walk inside the house, attacking me with a hug. Their son, who’s about eight now, wraps himself around my legs and calls me “Uncle Pony.” I had sent him pictures of me, pictures of New York, and drawings of dinosaurs and dogs and whatever else he could request. In return, Soda sent me his little doodles and imaginations. I offered to buy him a camera, Soda and Sandy insisted he was too young.

They eventually let me breathe and we all prepare to sit down and enjoy dinner. But when I step away from them I notice Darry standing by the hallway, arms crossed. I look into his eyes and ready myself to see the hardness there, the judgement, but they’re softer than I remember. His jaw isn’t set, his face isn’t stiff. He uncrosses his arms and strides over to me and pulls me into an embrace. I almost nearly gasp, I nearly cry.

I remember the image of him I had, that cold night, three years ago. That dead stare he gave me, the way he turned his head away, how he couldn’t even bear to look at the mistake he raised. I remember that sometimes and it almost feels like a reality.

I never imagined him like this. I never imagined his words in my ear, his sobs. “I’m so sorry, Pony. I’m so, so sorry for what I did. I love you so much and I’ll never stop loving you no matter what. You’ll always be my brother.”

I couldn’t have ever hallucinated that, I know it’s real.

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rings. And before I know it, I’m being attacked by Two-Bit Matthews, he’s pulling me under his arm and ruffling my hair as if we were kids. Darry laughs and asks us to stop rough-housing. He has a gut now and a rounder, blushing face. But he’s still the Two-Bit I know, just with bigger wrinkles under his eyes and by his smiling mouth. Nothing about him ever changed.

Fifteen minutes later, when we’re all seated at the table, there’s a few quick knocks at the door and then the creaking of it opening. We hear soft footsteps and turn to see Steve Randle, giving us all a bashful smile and waving.

He looks at me and says, “Hey, Pony.”

I smile. “Hey, Steve.”

Some old music is playing from the inside of the house, it’s a record that was probably hidden in my parent’s dusty shelves. Everyone’s dancing and drinking wine in there, but I needed a second to breathe on the porch. I can hear the gentle song flood the late air and I picture my mom and dad dancing in the living room. I wish it didn’t hurt so much.

The wood of the porch creaks. I see Steve from the corner of my eye, sitting down on one of the rocking chairs and sighing. I don’t say anything to him, for a while, he doesn’t say anything to me.

“It’s crazy,” he breathes, “right? I mean, that all of this is happening?” He shakes his head and laughs. “Could you ever imagine one of us getting married?”

I don’t look at him, instead I keep my focus on the sun as it descends behind the Tulsa buildings. I roll my shoulders and say, “Of course I could.”

I can feel his eyes on me.

“I always knew Soda was gonna get married,” I say. “I wasn’t too sure if it was gonna be Sandy, not when she left, but I knew he was gonna do it at some point.” I laugh. “It’s weird to think of him tying the knot before Darry, but I know that he put a lot of his life on hold after our parents died. I can’t even tell you if he’s dating anyone right now. And Two-Bit, well, he’s crazy. But I could always picture him with some girl eventually.” I hug my knees to my chest and sigh. “I guess the only guys I never pictured marrying was, well, you know-”

“Johnny and Dally,” he says, softly.

I finally look at him, smiling gently. “Yeah. Yeah, them and you.”

“Me?” He asks.

I shrug and laugh. “I couldn’t ever picture it, I don’t know why.”

Steve grins and turns away, eyes focused on the sunset. I follow his gaze. “You’re probably right. I mean, with Evie I couldn’t picture it too much, either. I loved her but she always like… like a friend to me, a really good pal.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“I never imagined you getting married,” he says.

I suck in a breath, I release it slowly. “I have.”

“Really?”

“Yup,” I say. “I used to think about it all the time, I still do. Going to an altar and holding a girl’s hand, kissing her in front of everyone, putting a ring on her finger. I think about it a lot.”

“And?” He asks.

“It never feels real, you know?” I look at him again and find that he’s looking at me. There’s something in his eyes that I can’t describe, but it feels warm and inviting. Like he wants me to keep on talking, like I wouldn’t mind if I did. “It feels fake, like that couldn’t be me, I can’t be there. And sometimes it seems so nice but like a fantasy and it all feels so-”

“Bitter,” he says. “Bitter, like a slap to the face, right?”

I know what it is, that feeling I feel when I look in his eyes, what I feel now when I talk to him. It reminds me of the lazy days in the lot with Johnny. When I could talk and talk and he always knew what I was saying, he always knew me. 

“Exactly.”

He’s smiling again. “I know that feeling, Ponyboy.”

There’s so many things I wish I could forget, memories I would pay to erase. And no matter where I go, trouble seems to follow me like a shadow. It all piles up and piles up and piles up. I’m reminded of it all when I sleep. The memories, the deaths, the aches.

I’m reminded of the white noises of a hospital, the tubes, the IV’s. Randy’s frantic voice, doctors and nurses running every which way. The heat, the chill, the nausea, the pain. I remember it all. I feel trapped in that hospital bed, I can’t move. Men in white coats and blue gloves are holding me down, Randy is staring at me. He’s hurting so bad, he’s screaming, telling me that he’s so so sorry. I wanna get up, I wanna leave.

Johnny’s looking at me, he’s shaking his head. Dallas is bleeding. My parents are watching, my mother is crying.

I’m in Randy’s van again, we’re driving up that red-dirt mountain and right when we reach the cliff a car comes charging towards us. It’s my mom and my dad. When we crash together I feel icy rain hit my skin. And then I feel fire burning me alive.

I can’t breathe when I wake up, drenched in a cold sweat. I feel the weight of something holding me down and I try to scream, but nothing comes out. After a while of panicking on the mattress, I sit up and hold myself, run my hands through my hair, look around and register my reality. Then I sigh.

I’ve been this way since I was a teenager, except now I have no warm body to comfort me when I’m awake. But the nightmares never went away, they just evolved.

I grab a coat and then head out the door, out of the house, away from that place. I don’t know where else to go, there’s nowhere in Tulsa I can turn to without being bombarded with another memory. It’s like my past is etched in every street, on every corner, and I can’t escape. I almost want to jump in my car and leave the town and then the state.

But I don’t. I just take a deep breath and start walking.

It’s all quiet outside, and when I look up to the sky I’m reminded of Johnny. I remember those peaceful moments we had in the lot, when we were in our own little corner that was untouched by the world. He would always lay back and turn his face upwards, illuminating his face with the evening light. His words came out like soft breaths. He hardly talked, but whenever he did I savored each sound. 

“I like coming here, and looking at the stars,” he said once, voice soft with awe. “‘Cause then I think…these are the same stars all across the world, the same stars in the universe. Someone else out there is looking up at them, and seeing the same thing as me. I like imagining I’m somewhere else, maybe in Rome, or Paris. And maybe the stars are brighter, or the sky is cloudier, or maybe it’s all the same. But I’m sharing this universe with a million people, and now my problems don’t seem that big. Now my life is a little less bad.”

Something stirs inside my body and my eyes begin to water. I’m still looking at the sky, still remembering his face. I think… it’s the one thing I can bear to remember. My feet start leading me towards the lot.

For some reason, I’m not surprised when I see Steve leaning against a cool building. A light cigarette in his mouth and his hand running through his hair. The lot isn’t too far away from our house, maybe he was just trying to be near us.

He startles when he sees me, then smiles weakly and waves. “Hey, Pony.”

“Hey,” I say.

“What’re you doing up at this time?” He asks, pushing himself away from the wall.

I shrug. “I could ask you the same thing, Steve.”

He raises his hands up and grins. “Alright, alright. I won’t ask too many questions.”

“Alright,” I nod.

I’m about to walk past him before he calls, “Hey, where are you off to?”

I look at him over my shoulder and answer, “The lot.”

“The lot?” He asks, cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth.

I turn around to face him and roll my shoulders. “Yeah, it’s where Johnny and I would hang out sometimes.” 

Recognition doesn’t seem to register on his face.

“You ever been there?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

I smile and wave my hand. “Why don’t you come with me, then?”

When we settle down, Steve offers me a cigarette. I haven’t smoked in too long, I tried kicking the habit after the incident, but I accept it anyways. I’m sure enough that it won’t cause some kind of relapse. He leans over and lights my cigarette, I can never get over the proximity of that. 

There’s a comfortable silence around us. I’m sitting in the dilapidated, leather seat Johnny would sleep on, Steve is crouched beside me on the concrete. Neither of us say anything for a while, I like it that way. It reminds me of all the quiet moments I had with Johnny.

Eventually, he speaks. “So, you would come by here a lot?”

I shake my head. “Mostly Johnny, he said he could think better here. I would just visit.”

He nods. “So, are you visiting now?”

My lips curve into a smile without meaning to. “Kind of…yeah.”

“You miss him a lot,” he says suddenly. “Right?”

I shrug and take a drag of the cigarette. The feeling of nicotine invades my lungs, it’s almost like nostalgia. It’s another memory I can stand. “He was my best friend.”

He stiffens beside me. “I know that feeling.”

My head turns to him, he doesn’t look back.

“That sounds kind of stupid, doesn’t it?” He asks bitterly. “Since I didn’t actually lose my best friend, not like you did, but I…” His voice trails off, he takes in a deep and then releases it.

“You feel like you lost Soda, huh?”

He purses his lips and then nods, hugging his legs and curling up. “Yeah. It really felt like I did.”

I hear crickets chirp around us. When I don’t say anything in response, he continues, “You know, it’s kind of silly but…in Vietnam, he was all I could think of. He was really all I could afford to think of. When you’re out there, you need a reason to stay alive. You need something to fight for. And he’s the only person who’s ever been there for me, all my life long. So it was just him, it’s always been just him.”

He sighs. “And then I came back, and then he was gone. The boy that kept me alive for years, the boy that convinced I deserved to exist, was gone. It felt like,” he grabs his chest, “it was one of the worst feelings I ever had. And he was never the same.”

“I understand,” I say. He turns to look at me, his eyes are wide. “Seeing my brother like he was…so lost and unlike himself, it was like he actually died. And I’m just…I’m just so thankful for Sandy, sometimes. For bringing him back, you know? Because I missed him.”

Steve looked away, his face became firm, his jaw became set. “You think Sandy brought him back?”

I roll my shoulders. “As much as she could.”

“I don’t.”

I whip my attention to him, surprised. He shakes his head, his dark hair flies wildly, it’s still long, still near curly. When he speaks, his voice has an edge to it. “He’s not himself, Ponyboy. And he hasn’t been in years. Sandy…it’s like she’s just an illusion for him. He needs her to pretend that he’s sane so he’s obsessed with her. And if you try to talk to him, well, sometimes you just can’t.”

His words start sinking in, and I’m thinking again--half listening to him and half remembering the early days when Sandy returned. When Soda picked her and her child up in his arms and laughed, and that feeling in my stomach when I watched him. It’s beginning to make sense now, what I felt, what it was.

Fake.

He shrugs, “Maybe he’s different now. But, well, I wouldn’t know. I’ve been gone for a while.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You left too?”

A laugh escapes his throat, it’s hoarse, and anything but happy. “I didn’t have a reason to stay anymore.”

“Oh,” I say dumbly.

“And you?” He says. “Why did you leave?”

I look away quickly, guilt settles in my gut again. “It’s complicated.”

“I think I know,” he breathes.

I try my best not to react, not to look too surprised, not to gasp. Not to cry, maybe.

“Darry never gave us the details but…it seemed pretty obvious. The whole Randy situation.”

“Yeah.”

I feel his hand on my arm, like a warm reassurance. I still don’t look at him.

“What Darry did was wrong,” he says. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

I begin to realize the emotion that blossomed in my chest when we spoke on the porch. 

“I understand, Pony.”

That energy that was so familiar to the lazy days I spent beside Johnny. And it’s something so wonderful and almost magical, something that I haven’t had or experienced in years. Something Darry and Soda and Randy were never able to give me.

For the first time in so fucking long, I feel understood.

Sandy decides to throw a party a few days later. She invites a bunch of people from our side of town and we all gather together to celebrate her and Soda’s engagement. Her family rents out a large room in a public building and we spend the day getting everything set up. She orders some fancy catering and someone to take care of the music.

I’m decorating one of the tables when I hear Steve say, “I thought the wedding was next week.”

It’s a lazy joke, I laugh anyways. He hears me and our eyes meet, he offers a smile and I smile back. Then I turn away and finish up the job.

The party is supposed to start at seven, everyone starts pooling inside around six. Soon enough, the space is all loud and crowded. The tables are filled and the center of the room is a designated dance area where parents sway back and forth and kids jump up and down.

I don’t even notice when Evie enters the room, and I can hardly feel the light taps she places on my shoulder, but I turn around and nearly jump back when her face greets me.

“Pony!” She exclaims, pulling me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe. “God, I missed you so much!”

When she pushes away, she kisses my cheeks real quick and then offers a large smile. I would never say it, not to anyone, but it’s almost painful to look at her. She looks a lot like my mom. She has her wavy brown hair and her dark eyes and her lips and her nose. All her features fit together in a way my mother’s never did, she was never the prettiest woman, though she was nothing but beautiful in my eyes. But Evie still has that face, and that warmth, and the personality.

It’s something else I can’t seem to forget, not when she’s right there, running her fingers through my hair and caressing my hand just like my mom used to. It hurts but I force myself to maintain eye contact, to keep up the conversation.

Evie doesn’t stick around too long, eventually she sets off and finds someone else. When I’m sitting alone at my table, observing all the scenes around me, I notice how she goes up to Steve. She keeps her hands behind her back and her face light, and she laughs whenever he says something. The smile on his face looks a little forced when he talks to her, but I pretend I don’t notice that.

At some point, she reaches out and takes his hand in hers, leads him to the dance floor, and places his arms around her waist, leaning into his chest and sighing.

It’s a slow song. The floor is invaded by all the couples in the building, men and women holding each other close and pressing kisses onto lips and foreheads. I notice Soda and Sandy together, dancing gently and gazing into each other’s eyes. I remember Steve’s words, the way he described it all. An illusion, he said.

Then I remember the other thing he said, when we sat together on the porch, when the sun set and everything was still. Bitter. Bitter like a slap to the face.

All the men and women. The dancing. The gazing. The illusion. This wedding, this whole situation.

It feels so bitter.

I can’t have it.

I get up from my table and set off, pressing through the throng of people and reaching the large double doors. Looking for space, looking to breathe. When I manage to escape outside, I grab my chest and gasp for air. It feels like something’s pressing around me and squeezing me, suffocating me, and I can’t spend another moment feeling that feeling. 

My hands start shaking uncontrollably and I try to calm them down. Jesus, I need a smoke. Or a line. Or a man. Something. A distraction.

Maybe it’s been a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, or maybe a whole hour, but I’m leaning against the side of the building, trying to refill my lungs, when Steve crashes through the doors.

I shoot up and whip my head around to see him holding his head in his hands, massaging his brow. My heart beats wildly from the sudden noise, when it calms down I say, “Hey, Steve.”

“Ah!” He jumps. His face softens after a quick moment, once he recognizes it’s me. “Oh. Hey, Ponyboy.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle a laugh and turn my focus away from him. My hands stop trembling, they’re just fidgeting now. “We keep running into each other, huh?”

He sets his hands on his hips and then sighs, smiling quickly afterwards. “Yeah. It’s almost hilarious.”

“I’ll bet,” I say, nodding.

He walks over to me, his arms swinging a little in the air. “So…why are you out here, all alone?”

“I needed a moment.”

He quirks his eyebrow. “Looks like you need a smoke.”

My lips twist into a smile. “You have one?”

Instead of responding he reaches into his pockets and retrieves a pack and a lighter, offering me a cigarette. I gladly take it and place it in between my lips. He leans forward and lights it up, I try to forget about how close his finger is to my mouth.

I take a quick puff when he steps away and feel my entire body relax. There’s this shred of guilt at the idea of me picking up a bad habit again, but even that begins to fade away with every drag. I loosen all my muscles with a little shake and then say, “What about you, Steve? What brings you out here?”

He shrugs, lighting up his own smoke. “No reason in particular.”

I nod slowly. “So… it doesn’t have anything to do with Evie?”

He looks up at me, his eyes wide again, and then scoffs. He takes his cigarette in between his fingers and grins. “You really are a smart one, huh, Pony?”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” I say.

“Yeah.” He laughs, that same bitter, hoarse sound. “Yeah, it’s complicated.”

I sigh. “Well, you don’t owe me any explanation.”

“Thanks.”

I can feel my stomach start to growl and I place my hand on it. My lips tug into a frown. “Damn, I’m a little hungry.”

“You didn’t eat in there?” He asks.

“I wasn’t in the mood.” I scrunch my nose. “‘Sides, I could really go for a cheeseburger.”

A light chuckle erupts from his throat. But it’s airy, it’s real. “I feel you, Pony.”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

He nudges my arm with his hand. “Hey, what do you say, you and I get out of here? Head to a diner and grab a burger and a soda?”

I take a long drag of my cigarette, I can’t help my smile. “That does sound real nice, Steve.”

He starts walking away, beckoning me with a quick nod of his head. “Come on, Pone, let’s go then.”

When we get to the diner, we choose a booth near a large, towering window. He slides into the seat across from me and we meet face to face. Our eyes settle on each other and we can’t help but laugh uncontrollably. 

Eventually, we settle into another kind of silence. Not the same as the other night, it’s a different quiet. More inviting, more calm. Like we don’t have to say anything, but we could.

Steve reaches over to the other end of the table and takes a few of the free sugar packets. Before I can ask what he’s doing he starts stacking them carefully, placing each one on top of the other with precision.

I crack a smile. “Steve-”

He slowly puts a finger to his lips. “Shh, shh. You can’t interrupt the process.”

“Oh,” I say, chuckling. “Well, please, sir, please forgive me.”

He nods and gives me a smug look. “You’re forgiven.”

“I oughta knock those packets down,” I say.

He shakes his head. “If you did, well, I might just have to kill you.”

“I-”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he says again. “Just watch.”

Eventually, the sugar packets begin to resemble a certain shape, like a house or a castle. Steve keeps his steady hand and eye on them to make sure none fall. It’s a stupid little trick but even still, I find myself impressed. Beyond that, it is a bit entertaining.

“I’m watching,” I say after some time, my voice comes off a lot more chipper and sing-songy than I intended.

“Annnnnnnnd,” he starts, placing the final packet right at the top, then leaning back, marveling at his creation, smiling proudly, “I’m bored.”

He gives the table a shake and the castle comes crumbling down.

I don’t why but that sends me into a fit of dumb little giggles. Steve smiles at me and starts laughing too. We’re both doubling over the table again like maniacs, only calming down once the waitress stops by to take our order.

“Two cheeseburgers, please,” he says with a wide grin.

“I’ll get right on that, sir.” She scribbles down some words on her notepad, then tucks it into her apron and turns to me. She flashes a smile in my direction. “And… sir.”

When she walks away, Steve whistles softly. I shoot him a look and he shrugs. “That broad sure seemed interested in you.”

“Please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I couldn’t imagine why.”

“Well,” he says, “you kind of look like Soda back in his prime. When he was all handsome and… sane.”

Steve chuckles, but I can’t join him this time. My mind is stuck on the word handsome. And then it sticks on that phrase, the one I tended to hear a bit growing up. With each passing season and each growth spurt, when I started getting hair on my chest and when my jaw grew sharper, everyone always compared me to Soda. I never saw the resemblance, and sure sometimes I’d get all insecure about it, but it never mattered too much to me.

But now, it feels a little bothersome. Actually, it’s all I’m beginning to think about. Sometimes my mind hyper fixates on things until I drive myself mad, that’s why I need distractions. 

I sigh, my fingers start playing with each other. “So…”

Steve looks up at me, his mouth twists into a smirk. “So…”

“What do you wanna talk about?” I ask.

He laughs. “Never thought you needed much help with conversation, Ponyboy.”

I pretend not to be offended by that, I don’t want him to see me as sensitive. “Well, you brought me out here, Steve. Might as well say something.”

“What do you want me to say, then?” 

The way his eyes are on me, studying me, I don’t like it. I’m always used to being the observer, the one who analyzes people without them knowing. Whenever the roles are switched…it’s uncomfortable to say the least. I don’t know how to act.

What do I want him to say?

He can see me asking myself that question, I know it. He can see me all caught up in my own thoughts. I’ve never felt so understood by anyone, not since Johnny. It makes me feel vulnerable, and I haven’t been vulnerable in years.

“We never used to talk, huh?” I ask.

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, not too much.”

My fingers reach out to one of the fallen sugar packets, I began to play with it in my palm. “You know, I always wondered why you hated me, Steve. But I think I get it now.”

He sits up from his seat and raises his eyebrows, his face twists in confusion. “Now, hold on, Pony. Did you just say that I hated you?”

I’m a little startled by his response. I hold the pink pouch in between my cold fingertips and shrug. “Well, uh, I just thought you did.”

He leans forward, setting his elbows on the table. “And who gave you that idea?”

I feel my face get heated. “It seemed pretty obvious.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” I say, firmly. “You were always telling me to get lost, saying you didn’t want me around, saying I would lose my head if it weren’t attached to my neck-”

He starts laughing. “Ponyboy, I didn’t hate you.”

My eyebrows narrow and I frown. “Well, why’d you treat me like that?”

The smug look on his face fades away. He rolls his eyes for a moment, like he’s pensive, and then shrugs. “I don’t know, Pony. You were Soda’s kid brother. I didn’t hate you and I didn’t hate having you around. I just-” his voice trails off, “I just wanted to be alone with Soda, I think. He was always wanted by everyone, you know? He was popular with all the girls and boys and everyone wanted him. And he was different whenever he was around people, sometimes he didn’t even feel like the friend I first met. So I just wanted him by himself, away from the broads and the gang and you. And, I guess, since you were so young, you were the only one I could tell to scram. I didn’t mean to take it all out on you, Pony, I’m sorry.”

I lean back in the booth and think over his words, my hands still fidgeting with the sugar packet. Then I shake my head. “I wasn’t that young.”

He smiles. “You seemed like it.”

I toss the packet at him. “But I wasn’t.”

“Well,” he sighs, brightening up, “I don’t know if it means anything to you, but, I’m glad that we’re friends now.”

I feel a certain warmth on my neck, I’m trying my best to ignore it. “So, we’re friends now, Steve?

“Might as well be,” he says.

“Might as well,” I repeat.

We don’t say much when we eat, and he wordlessly takes the check and decides to pay for dinner. We’re quiet as we finish and head outside, me trailing behind him into the evening chill. The silence breaks when he asks,

“Want me to walk you home?”

I just nod.

On the walk there, a conversation strikes up again. Steve turns to face me and says, “Ponyboy, I am glad that you’re here. I hope you know that.”

It takes a while for me to respond, and I can’t say why. Maybe I want to be dramatic, maybe I want to think over my words. But seconds tick away until I finally reply, “Because you want someone to talk to, right? Since, Soda’s got other things on his mind.”

Steve’s a lot quicker than I am when it comes to talking. He doesn’t really pause before he speaks, he just laughs or shakes it’s head. It’s like a habit to him. I notice it when he chuckles and looks down and then up and then towards me. “It sounds selfish, doesn’t it? I guess it kind of is.”

“I don’t think so,” I say. “I think it’s a lot more normal than you think. I want the same thing too, if I’m gonna be honest.”

He says nothing, not for the rest of the walk home. And I don’t mind it, I don’t think he needs to. 

When we finally reach my house, he nudges my shoulder and smiles. I smile back. That’s when he speaks. “You’re not a replacement for Soda, you know that right?”

I don’t. So I don’t answer him. For some reason, I don’t want to lie. Not right now, not to Steve.

“I loved Soda a lot,” he says. “And I missed him and I still do. But you’re not like him. Not at all.” He’s laughing again, it doesn’t take too long to get used to that bright sound. Not when it’s real. “I don’t think I could ever really talk to him like I can talk to you, Pony. I don’t think…him and I never really understood each other, there was no need to get that complicated. But I like how it feels.” 

He pauses.

I breathe.

“With you.”

I let the breath go.

The day I arrived in Tulsa, Soda asked me to be his best man. When I accepted, I didn’t really think about Steve. I mean, there was no need to. But at the rehearsal dinner, he’s all my mind can focus on.

Another hyper fixation of mine, and for the past week it’s been Steve Randle.

It’s almost amusing to think of, but I could see it coming. Maybe no one else could, as far as they were concerned I’ve hated Steve ever since I was a kid. And a few years ago, I would act surprised, and pretend like I thought the same. But I’ve been lying to myself as long as I can remember.

And I know now that I never hated Steve. I wouldn’t be able to.

A priest is guiding Soda and Sandy through dos and don'ts of a wedding ceremony. I’m standing idly by, uncomfortable in my specific position. I notice Steve isn’t too far away from me, as one of the groomsmen. All day long we’ve been tossing each other looks, mine tend to be sympathetic, his are humorous.

I don’t pay too much attention to the whole ordeal. Gosh, I haven’t been paying attention to a whole lot of things lately.

It all reminds me of back when I was younger. I remember that feeling I got whenever Steve would glance my way, when he would ruffle my hair and jab my shoulder, when he would give me his witty quips and taunts. I’d groan, I’d pout, I’d yell, I’d go right back at him, and I would pretend that I hated it. When really, all I actually hated was the fluttering in my stomach whenever he noticed me.

He wasn’t the first boy to make me feel the way I did, but he was the first one who made me realize it. And I resented him a whole lot for that.

But I’m older. I’ve been with more men, I’ve seen more things, I’ve gotten over the shame and the intolerance and the constant self-hatred. So now I don’t have any distractions, now it’s just him and that awful floating feeling. 

And he keeps on looking at me, I wish he would just stop.

Soon enough, everyone’s sitting down and eating. The food here is just as fancy as it was the other day, but I can stomach eating it. Sandy and Soda are at the center of the table, surrounded by eager people and endless conversation. I’m nearby but none of the small talk interests me. All that’s interesting right now is a few seats away, picking at the ham and bread and cheese, glancing up at me every once and a while and making stupid faces.

I wish I could still lie to myself sometimes. Even though, I guess, it does feel a little good.

An hour passes like that. 

The rehearsal dinner isn’t over yet, but Steve’s gone. He got up to leave a minute or two ago, I did my best not to care about it, it was probably a bathroom break anyways. He hasn’t come back yet though.

This shouldn’t matter to me.

“Hey, where are you going?” Soda asks when I fold in my napkin and leave the table.

“Um, the bathroom,” I lie. “For a few minutes.” Another lie.

He looks a bit suspicious but doesn’t act on it. Instead he smiles weakly. “Ok, be back.”

I half-heartedly nod over my shoulder and then set off. I doubt Steve is still inside the place but I look around anyways, hoping for a sign of his dark brown curls or his gap-toothed smile. When I find nothing, I push ahead to the exit doors of the building, opening them and heading outside.

He’s been gone for a while, I half expect to find nothing out here. But I see him nearby, smoking a cigarette, and grinning once he notices me. 

“I was waiting for you,” he says, voice mumbled with the butt in his mouth.

Almost like it’s muscle memory, he immediately stretches his hand out, offering me a cig from his pack. I can’t fight the stupid smile on my face, and I can’t stop myself from accepting it. My mind drifts off a bit as he lights it up. The closeness, the heat, his fingers and my lips, the fact that I’m smoking again, the fact that I bought some Kools at the store the other day and I’m halfway through it.

“Hey, Pone,” he says, pulling back and flicking off his lighter. “Where are you off to now? Get out of your head, come here. I’m here.”

I chuckle and roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”

“Good.” His lips twist into a smirk. There’s an energy about him tonight that’s infectious. “I’m bored, come on. Let’s do something.”

I laugh and gesture behind me. “You know, Steve, in case you forgot, we’re both a little busy right now.”

“Aw, come on,” he says. “No one’ll care if I’m gone. They’ll worry about you, maybe.”

“Steve-”

“You want me to beg?” He asks, eyes bright. “I just might, if you bug me enough.”

I don’t mean to say it, I guess it just comes out. “Hey, what’s up with you today, Steve?”

He hesitates. It’s unusual to see. He kind of steps back, takes the smoke out of his mouth, tosses it to the ground and stomps on it. The light in his smile fades away and his expression reverts to that bitter look I saw when I first got here. “I just wanted to hang out with my friend, is that so unusual?”

“No,” I say softly, desperately maybe. “Here, I’ll-”

“Sorry, Pony,” he says. “You should probably head on inside, they’ll notice you’re gone-”

“You don’t gotta tell me what to do, Steve,” I snap, taking his arm with my hand and pulling him away from the building. “I’m not a kid. And you oughta stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself,” he mumbles.

“You are.” I push away from him and stare him straight in the face, poking at his chest. “What is all this ‘no one’ll notice me’ nonsense? What is all that about? Who said that, Steve?”

He shrugs and looks down. “No one’s gotta say it, Pony.”

“I’ve always noticed you,” I say.

His eyes are on me again. When I was kid, and he was just a kid too, I always noticed that light little hazel color he had. I had forgotten it after all these years, it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time.

His breath comes out a little shallow, maybe I’m imagining the smile on his face. “Yeah. You wrote about me, right? In that theme of yours?”

My face heats up and I step away. “Glory, Steve, you don’t have to remind me of it.”

He leans forward the more I move backwards, like he’s taunting me. “What’s the issue, Pony? I liked it.”

“It was so bad,” I groan.

“Pony,” his voice comes out real gentle, a lot more gentle than I ever thought it could get, “I thought it was amazing.”

My ears are warm.

“For a thirteen year old kid, anyways.”

I shove him in the shoulder. “Fuck off, Steve.”

“Oh sorry, I’m mistaken. You’d been fourteen for a month.”

When he tries to push me back, I catch his hand. The touch, the way he’s staring at me, I act like it’s not intoxicating my mind.

“Come on,” I say, to distract both of us. “Where do you wanna go?”

We end up in his shitty hotel room, he rented it for the wedding. There are cracks in the walls and some wet spots that are dripping, his mattress is rock hard, his toilet’s missing a lid, there’s no air conditioner, and I’m doing my best not to comment on any of it.

I only last a few minutes before I open my mouth. “You should’ve just asked me to rent you a place.”

“Shut the hell up,” he bites, shrugging out of his coat and walking around the room.

“Or you could’ve just stayed with me,” I say, unsure whether that was a joke or not. Unsure whether or not I want to be forward.

I’m in his hotel room, I think. That’s typically a pretty obvious sign with most guys. But then I glance at Steve, I notice that he still hasn’t commented on what I said. Maybe he’s debating too, wondering if I’m serious or if I’m just messing with him like always.

Steve Randle isn’t most guys. Not to me. He never has been.

Curly wasn’t like Steve. I wanted him to be a lot of things, I wanted him to meet up to all my expectations and he just couldn’t. And Randy, I just tried to use him as a way to escape. I wanted him for his stories, his drugs, his ideas, but it was never about him.

No one’s ever been able to do what Steve does. He makes me feel better just by existing.

Christ, I feel like a pansy again.

“So,” he starts, clapping his hands together and landing on his bed with a thump, “what are we doing now?”

I walk over to him with a little skip in my step, he smiles as I jump onto the bed. I roll on my back and kick my legs in the air. “I don’t know, what do you wanna do?”

He laughs. “We can play cards?”

I scrunch up my nose. “I don’t know any card games.”

“I could teach you.”

“Let me rephrase, I hate card games. I don’t want to learn any.”

“You really know how to have fun, don’t you, Pony?” He sits up and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a deck of cards. His hands shuffle them around and then pick out a few, laying them out on the bed.

He begins to stack the cards up, just like the sugar packets at the diner. I can’t help but laugh, I can’t help but watch.

“Glad I’m entertaining you,” he mutters. “Wish you would do that same for me.”

“Shh,” I say, mimicking him from a few days ago--that earns me a little chuckle. “Can't I just watch?”

He shrugs. “You can, but then I end up getting bored.”

He barely manages to set up a few cards that loosely resemble a house before he sighs and knocks everything down. “And I'm bored.”

“You wanna be entertained so bad, turn on the T.V.”

He scoffs. “Look around and tell me if you find one.”

“Or you could go to the bar or a strip club maybe-”

“Okay,” he says, changing the subject. “What else do you wanna do, Pony? Got any more wonderful suggestions?”

I roll my shoulders and lay my head in my hand. “Why can't we just talk, Steve?”

He groans loudly. “All you ever wanna do is talk.”

“Hmph.” My lips purse and I sit up. “Well, Steve, excuse me for wanting to keep you company. How annoying of me.”

“Wait.” He reaches out and places his hand on my arm. His voice is a little quiet, a little sad. “I'm just not in the talking mood today. Sorry, Pone.”

I look down at him, his face is planted in the mattress and his hair is falling over his eyes. I have an urge to move those curls away, I know I can't. Instead, I turn from him. “It's okay.”

He doesn't respond.

“I'm sorry. About the best man thing.”

Through his dark strands, I notice his eyes glancing up at me. “What do you mean?”

“You know, how Soda made me his best man. And I'm sure you wanted-”

“Pony,” he says. “You're his brother.”

I nod. “I know, Steve, but…you could still be disappointed.”

He hesitates again, like he's thinking over his words. “I guess I can't lie. I did want to be closer to Soda at his wedding. But this is how we ended up. I can't change that.”

“But it hurts?”

“Yeah.”

I suck in a breath and take a quick moment to think. Then I say, “Let's talk about something else.”

“Good.”

“When are you going home?” I ask.

He flips over on his back and starts playing with some nearby cards. “Uh, the day after tomorrow. In the morning.”

“So soon?”

“There's no reason to stay.” He says simply.

“Yeah.”

He turns to me. “And you?”

I shrug. “Not sure yet.”

“Hm,” he hums and looks away. “I thought that you'd want to leave as soon as possible.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And why'd you think that?”

“Well, considering how you left last time…”

His voice trails off, I say nothing. I'm unsure again, unsure of how to immediately respond, unsure of how not to get trapped in my thoughts and remember. I just lay down on my back and sigh, and feel the warmth of Steve’s body being so close to mine.

All I end up saying is. “Last time was different.”

“I'll bet,” he says. “I'll bet it was real complicated.”

“How did you know about what happened?” I ask. “If Darry never said anything.”

“Well, it was obvious. You'd been hanging out with that Randy kid a lot, Darry never liked him. Y'all both mysteriously disappeared one night, you left a note-”

“Does Two know?”

“I don't think so.”

“Then how did you know, Steve?” I press.

He shrugs. “I just know things, Pony.”

I can't say anything.

“How is that Randy kid?” Steve pipes up. “He still your boyfriend?”

My body nearly has a physical reaction to that word. “‘Boyfriend?’”

His eyes widen. “Oh, I didn't mean to assume--I mean, if y'all didn't use any labels-”

“No, it's okay,” I say. “And no. I guess, now he's my ex-boyfriend.”

“One of many.”

I shake my head. “I haven't really dated since.”

He turns to look at me and grins. “No shit? I thought you'd be a heartbreaker like your brother.”

“Well, not in the exact same ways. I guess I get around.”

He laughs a little. “You know, people have always said you look like your brother. I think I even said that once. It isn't true. I don't think you look like him at all.”

“Really, Steve?”

“Really.”

I don't know how I'm supposed to take that. I doubt I should be taking it the way I am right now.

“So,” he says, “what happened? With your ex-boyfriend Randy?”

When I pause and bite my lip he continues, “Let me guess, it’s too complicated?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s a long story.”

“I have a long time.”

It’s hard not to get into my head again. Truth be told, I don’t think about Randy too much. I do my best not to. Those memories come with a lot of baggage I’m never prepared enough to unpack. And I never talk about him, haven’t in years. Not to my brothers, or my friends, or my dates.

But Steve… I want to trust him. And I couldn’t say why, I just do.

I sigh. “My time with Randy…it was weird. I mean, I left home, I never planned on coming back, and I was so depressed. So I just wanted to be happy. He told me he had a lot of ways to make me happy. He had places and people and drugs, so I trusted him. Everywhere he went, everything he did, I did too. And that led to a lot of weird things, you know? And at some point, I realized that life wasn’t for me. So, he dropped me off somewhere and handed me a few dollars and let me loose.”

Steve’s eyes are me, I can tell. When he speaks, it’s calming, assuring. “So that’s what it was? Drugs?”

“I guess,” I say. “It’s not as simple as it sounds, but there’s just so much to talk about, I guess. It was a really weird time, I mean all the crazy nights and near-death experiences-”

He shoots up. “Wait, near-death experiences?”

I pause, then I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, sounding concerned.

“I mean, when we were high we would always do stupid shit which would lead to stupid shit. You know how it is. You think you can touch the sky, death can’t touch you, all that stuff. And then you’re unlike yourself.”

He nods slowly. “Okay. I was just worried that, I don’t know, that maybe you had done something stupid--”

“Stupid,” I repeat dumbly, laughing a little.

“Like killing yourself or--”

“Not on purpose.”

“Huh?” He says.

“Not on purpose,” I mumble. “I never tried to kill myself on purpose.”

He says nothing, but I can tell he wants me to go on.

“I just… I made a few mistakes. And one big one.”

Steve just looks at me.

I take in a deep breath. “I overdosed.”

“You what?”

I look up at his face. He looks pale, scared, different from what I’m used to. And whatever expression that is, it makes my heart sink.

“I,” I begin to stutter. “I over-”

Suddenly, he’s pulling me up to face him and grabbing my shoulders firmly in his hands. “No, don’t fucking say it again.”

“You asked-”

“Jesus Christ,” he swears. “Pony, how could you do that?”

I start feeling defensive, that heat is burning in my gut, it’s pounding in my head. “I was going through a tough time, Steve.”

“Well, shit, kid, we all go through tough times. You shouldn’t have gone off with that Randy guy, you should’ve stayed here-”

“Goddamit!” I yell, pushing him away from me.

He tumbles onto the bed, looking up like he wants to scream back at me. But I don’t let him. “I’m not a fucking kid, Steve! And don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t have done! I’m not your responsibility, never been.”

“So you’re mad at me for caring?” He asks incredulously.

“Caring about what? It was three fucking years ago! Why does it matter?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sits up and glares at me. “You could have died!”

“But I didn’t!” I say.

“You could have!” He yells. “And that matters to me, Pony! What if you weren’t here? Right now? With me? What if you died and no one could help you?”

My eyes are heating up, I can feel the hot tears. “I can’t go back and change anything, I don’t know what you expect me to say! I can’t change what I did! Don’t you think I fucking want to! Don’t you think I would if I could! I already hate myself, Steve, I don’t need you hating me too!”

“Woah,” he exclaims. “Pony, stop. Stop thinking that.”

But it’s too late. I'm already sobbing like I haven't in years, pressing my hands desperately to my cheeks and trying to reel everything back in and wipe the wetness away. I'm overcome with all the emotion and memories and just being here, in Tulsa, with Steve Randle, thinking about all I've tried so hard to forget. I'm flooded with these thoughts and feelings and I just can't hold it back anymore. I can't keep up the composure and good behavior like I've been doing for Soda and Darry and all everyone, I can't keep pretending I'm fine here. I can't keep pretending that it doesn't hurt anymore, when it's the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing to leave my mind at night.

My parents. Johnny. Dally. The overdose. Randy, brain fried, begging the doctors to keep me alive. It still haunts me and I've been trying to stop myself from crumbling. But I just can't anymore.

I feel Steve's hands on me, and the firmness of his chest as he draws me close to him. Then his breath on my face when he whispers, "Hey, hey, Pony, I'm sorry. It's okay. It's all okay."

I can't stop crying.

"I don't hate you, Pony, I never have and I never will. You couldn't do anything."

It's like every word he says sends me spiraling even further. I want to shut him up, I want to hit him or something, I want him to stop being so damn nice to me, I want him to stop making me fall in love with him.

"You're my best pal, Pony," he says. "You're the only thing I have right now. I can't hate you, I need you."

There's nothing I can say. No response comes to my mind, there's no wit or words. It's just nothing. Even after the tears subside, I'm still left with this kind of emptiness, where for once I have no thoughts in my damn brain. There's just Steve Randle and his raspy voice and his gap-toothed smile and the scent of his cologne.

"We're a lot more alike than I used to think, Pony," he continues. "Death likes to follow us around. We're its plaything. Even after 'Nam, I…I tried ending it all a few times." He chuckles bitterly. "More than a few."

I pull away from his chest slightly, only to look up at him with wide eyes. He's grinning down at me, looking so sweet I barely recognize him.

"I'm all good now," he assures. "That's why I left. This place leaves a sour taste in your mouth sometimes, doesn't it?"

I wipe my nose with my sleeve and sniffle. "Yeah, it does."

He runs his fingers through my hair, almost like an absentminded caress. "I'm really sorry about what happened to you, Pony."

His hands are touching me and I just can't seem to ignore that, I try to act like I can. "I'm sorry for what happened to you too, Steve. I'm glad you're here, and that you made it out okay."

I mean it, I hope he knows I do.

He just smiles. "I'm really glad you're alive, Pony."

One hand of his is laying on the bed, it's real close to mine. Our pinkies are nearly touching. I want to take it and hold it and bring it close. I want him to embrace me again, just so I can feel safe, just so I can close my eyes and pretend it's just me and him.

I look in his eyes again, he's not talking. I want a sign, something to show me I'm not just imagining everything, that I'm not just desperate for someone to talk to and neither is he.

Maybe we stay staring for too long. Eventually, he shifts away and sighs. "Your brothers are probably worried about you, huh?"

"I guess," I say. It doesn't matter. None of it really matters right now.

"Want me to walk you home?" He offers.

"Well, what if," I start…

His face looks expecting.

"What if I just stay here tonight?"

I'm inviting myself. He knows the kind of person I am. If he doesn't want to give me a hint, I can give him one. All I need is a confirmation, a yes or no, am I delusional or not?

"Okay, Pony."

I wish he said more. But I guess I'm so restless that that's enough for me.

I'm a lot more sick than I realized. I wear one of his shirts I found, I didn't really ask for it, but he saw me reach into his drawers and pick it out. I discard my pants and mess up my hair and act like I wasn't just revisiting my trauma a few minutes ago.

I don't know what I'm looking for right now, or what the purpose of any of this is. I don't know what I want with him, all I know is that I want him--and that includes anything he's willing to give me.

So I lay down on the bed beside him, wearing his clothes, holding his gaze in my own intently. And he looks back at me. Maybe his eyes flicker to my lips, to the skin of my legs, or maybe I imagine that. But I want him.

I'm about to tell him that.

"Steve-"

"Goodnight, Ponyboy," he says, tangling his fingers in my hair one last time.

Then the lights are out and so is he. I'm unsure how to feel. But I lay down and close my eyes, doing my best not to reflect on anything in the past few hours. I try to get lost somewhere, somewhere far far away from here. A place where Steve Randle draws me close and kisses me quick. 

I pray for a good dream tonight.

The next morning, I find myself waking up alone. Steve isn't there. There's no note explaining his absence, no sign. I'm just left in an empty hotel room.

I feel something, maybe it's disappointment, maybe it's along the lines of some other emotion--one I can't name. But I do my best not to focus on any of it, I just sit up and stretch and yawn and prepare for the day.

It's finally Soda's wedding night.

When I arrive home, everyone descends on me like vultures. Darry glares at me, arms crossed, asking where I was all night long. Soda just looks dismayed, wondering why I left the party so soon. They don't seem to notice me dodging all their questions, after a while, they let off and decide to focus on the more important details of the day.

Darry starts barking orders at the both of us, prodding Soda into the bathroom to shower and shoving a suit and tie into my hands. The day's already starting off with a kind of chaos I can barely manage, but I save face for Soda. I don't make any snide remarks or comments, and I don't add my input into anything. 

And I try not to think of Steve. Because today isn't about him, and it isn't about me neither. 

Two-Bit comes along sometime later to help us get ready--though I can't say how he's helping. All he does is pat Soda on the back and woefully tell him "you'll never see freedom again, good man."

Darry tells him to shut his trap but Soda just shakes his head and laughs a little. There's this look on his face, like nothing can bring him down today.

I almost feel a little happy for him until I remember what Steve said about it all. 

Soda slicks his hair back, adjusts his tie, and plants his feet in his shoes, looking like a man I've never known him to be, looking like a groom. And when we all step back and marvel at how unrecognizable he seems, that's when we realize that he's changed for good. There's no going back after this.

I can only hope that this time, he changes for the better. And maybe it's all a little fake, maybe it is just an illusion, but I still want him to find the slightest bit of happiness. For his sake.

Right when we're about to leave, Soda pulls me aside and says, "Hey, Pony, mind doing me a favor?"

I look up at him and nod. "Sure, anything for you, Soda."

"Don't run off again, okay?" He asks. "Like yesterday? This is a real important day for me, I want my little brother to be there."

"Yeah, sure," I say. "I promise, Soda."

He grins the kind of teeth-bearing, good old-fashioned, Soda grin that I've been missing for years. "Thank you, Pony."

We all roll out the front door and make our way to the church. No one besides me seems to notice that Steve isn't here. I start remembering last night's conversation, but I will myself to ignore it.

Today is Soda's day.

Everything starts moving along quicker than I expected, almost like a blur, almost like some scene in a movie. There are little flashes, images, moments that pass by and I capture them all in bits--ready to piece them together once the day ends.

There's standing next to Soda at the altar, seeing his smile, dusting the lint off of his shoulder. Then there's turning my head to see Steve, standing awkwardly by Two-Bit, not meeting my gaze, not giving me a sign of recognition. There's Sandy walking down the aisle, a big white gown and a large bouquet. And her son as a ring bearer, and the priest, and Steve never once looking at me or Soda, and the vows, and the kiss, and the rice, and the screams.

The world seems to wake up a little, all the colors are brighter and the sounds are louder. Soda and Sandy run out of the church, hand in hand. A crowd pushes me to follow behind them. All of this, and yet I still feel like I'm not in the moment, I'm still somewhere else. I turn around and can't find Steve. There's a roar of an engine as the newlyweds drive away, the afternoon sun sets--the vibrant red and orange and yellow nearly burn my eyes. I'm watching it all from a bird's eye view, looking for a sign of those complicated swirls.

Nothing has set in yet. I'm not really here.

It's dark when the dinner begins. The crowd has settled down inside of another building, sitting at their assigned tables and chatting the night away. Steve came back, but he still looks lost to me--like this isn't where he's supposed to be. Soda and Sandy are pressed close together, kissing and whispering and feeding each other food and laughing. 

Taking it all in, a certain feeling stems in my chest.

The inside of the building is almost suffocating. It’s all noise and heat and bodies, there's no space for me to breathe. And for a moment, I feel like a stranger in a place that should be so familiar. There's this pressure around me when I realize that's how I've always felt, all my life long.

I remember all my lonely days in New York. I would wake up in the mornings, drink some coffee, look out the window, and then the emotion would overwhelm me. Sometimes, I saw the world and I just felt empty. There was something everyone else had that I didn't, something that I felt like I needed. Maybe that was family, maybe that was closure, maybe that was love. But something in my life was missing.

I felt full, for a lack of a better word, when I started talking to Steve again. And I want that feeling, and it's purer than drugs or expectations or illusions to feel better about myself. 

Steve isn't my Curly, he isn't my Randy, and he isn't my Sandy. And I don't belong in Tulsa, but maybe I don't belong anywhere. Maybe I just belong with him. 

And that's when I realize that I need to go outside.

I look around to find him, but he's gone. I notice him sneaking away, holding his head in his hands, trying to escape again. Without thinking, I get up from my seat.

When I'm about to follow him out, I hear Soda call behind me, "Pony? Where are you going?"

"I'll be back," I say, meaning it this time. "I swear, I just need to take care of something."

He purses his lips then sighs, shrugging his shoulders. "Alright, Pone, just be back please."

I'm already dashing through the crowded room and then rushing out of the door, slipping outside and looking wildly for Steve. And that's when I see him.

He doesn't look happy when he sees me, not like usual. His face is all soft, all dejected. 

"Pony," he says. 

"Steve," I start. "You..." my voice trails off and I try to collect my thoughts. "We need to have a talk."

He sighs. "Look, I'm not too much in the mood talking."

"Fine," I say sharply, "I'll do the talking then. You left this morning without saying anything."

His face reddens and his eyes start shifting around. "Careful, Pony, someone might get the wrong idea." 

"Why did you just leave?" I ask.

"I-" he stutters, "I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

"Oh really?" I inch closer to him. "Then why did you avoid me all day long?"

"Pony-"

"And what's been your issue lately?" I press. "Yesterday and today, what's bothering you so much what's on your mind?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he says through gritted teeth.

"Steve," I say, "I care about you, okay? I care about you a whole fucking lot, and you heard a lot from me yesterday. Something's making you upset and I wanna know why, I want to help you."

He doesn't respond, he just looks at the ground and kicks his feet. I scoff and roll my eyes but don't dwell on it too much, instead, I just reach into my back pocket and pull out a pack of cigarettes. 

"Alright, we don't have to talk then," I say. "Let's smoke."

His eyes widen and he slaps the pack out of my hands. "Pony, what the hell are you doing?"

I stare at him, shocked and confused, I drift off to the sight of a wasted butt on the ground. Then my sight narrows into a resentful glare and my fists clench. "What the fuck was that for, Steve?"

"You're honestly gonna smoke?" He asks. "After everything that's happened to you, you're just gonna light one up and pretend everything's fine?"

"I overdosed on cocaine, not nicotine," I bite back.

"Oh, and that makes me feel so much better!"

"What's wrong with you, Steve?" I yell. "Make up your damn mind, do you care about me or do you not? Do you want me or do you not? I don't know what you want!"

"Why does it matter what I want?" He asks.

"Because I want you!" I scream.

It's like lightning strikes him when he hears those words, like something ran through him. He sucks in a deep breath and holds it there, not saying anything, looking around wildly. The only words he manages to say are, "Christ, Ponyboy."

"I thought it was obvious this whole time," I say. "Didn't you see it? I’ve loved you ever since we were kids."

"I-I didn't want to think about it."

"Why?" I ask. "Because you don't love me back."

"Pony," his voice is stern and testing, "anyone can hear you."

I straighten my back, I can feel my nails digging into my palms. "No one's here, Steve. And I want you to tell me how you feel."

"None of this is important right now," he says.

"Do you love Soda?" I ask suddenly.

"Christ." He runs his fingers over his face and through his hair. "Goddamit, why are you bringing this up right now?"

"Do you?"

"I did!" He exclaims. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Yes, I fucking loved your brother! Yes, today and yesterday were some of the hardest days for me! Yes, I hate having to look up there and remember a time when I could have sworn things were different, when I could have sworn he loved me back! Is that what you want?"

Every word is like a punch to the gut, having to imagine Steve falling for my brother, having to imagine Steve looking at him the way I want him to look at me. It's almost painful to think about.

"Is that what you wanted?" Steve repeats coldly.

“You know what I want,” I say. “But what about you, Steve?”

He says nothing.

“Is it Soda?"

He scoffs. "No, Pony, that's not it.”

“But you loved him,” I say.

“I did.”

“And you can barely handle watching him get married off-”

“Pony,” he says, “you of all people should understand! I don’t love him anymore, I don’t, but I did. And he used to mean the world to me! He was the one happiness I had in my life, he was there for me when my mother walked out, and when my father didn’t give a shit about me! He was my everything! He isn’t anymore, but that doesn’t change how I felt! That doesn’t change all the memories I have! And I stopped loving him a while ago, but it still hurts!”

For a second, I think I forget to breathe. My chest is tight, there’s such a tangible feeling in my stomach that I want to yank it out. It’s like that feeling you get on a roller coaster, or when you’re a little too high in the air. “You-you don’t love him?”

He throws his hands up. “No! No, I fucking don’t!”

“This whole time you haven’t loved him?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Haven’t for years, Pony. Haven’t since I moved away from this place and realized there’s a lot more to life than Soda and hair grease and all this shit.”

My lungs are almost burning, like I ran a marathon or something. “Did you-did you really just want someone to talk to? Did you just want another friend.’

“We don’t all have the pleasure of knowing what we want,” he says. “Everything’s a lot more complicated to me.”

“You don’t think anything’s complicated for me?”

“You tell me, Pony.”

“Steve,” I say, voice firm. “everything is my life is fucking messed up, and confusing, and I have no idea what to do. I don’t know anything. There’s only one thing I can understand, one thing that makes sense and doesn’t feel bad, and that’s you. In New York, I feel like shit. In there,” I gesture to the building behind us, “I feel like shit. I feel like shit everywhere except when I’m with you. You make me feel happy. And not like drugs, and not like my ex-boyfriends, and not like Sandy makes Soda happy. I actually love you, Steve. I do, it’s the one thing I know for sure.”

His eyes are intent on mine, his lips are pursed. Maybe he’s thinking, or maybe he just has nothing to say. 

I only sigh. “Look, I guess I can’t blame you if you don’t feel the same. I know how it is to be confusing, I know how it feels when life is so fucked up you just can’t make space for anything else. I get it. I won’t blame you. Just…at least you know how I feel.” 

I almost panic when he still stays silent. Until he strides over to me and pulls me close and then presses our lips together. I almost gasp in shock, but my mouth is too busy. Thoughts are trying to invade my mind as we kiss, I can feel it, but I refuse to let anything interrupt the moment. I just close my eyes and curl my fingers in his hair, the hair I’ve been dreaming about touching since I was a teenage boy. And then I’m clouded with the euphoria of everything.

Steve Randle kissing me. His soft hair. His soft lips. His hands. His skin.

It’s almost like being high but it’s so much better.

Then, he suddenly jumps away and whips his head back and forth. “Christ, I’m sorry.”

I lean forward and reach out, trying to bring him back. “Don’t apologize, Steve.”

He looks at me and then smiles slowly, I notice a dimple in one of his cheeks. “I meant, I don’t wanna get caught. No need to get you in trouble again.”

That’s when I remember that we’re in public. When the realization fully steps in I startle just like he did and glance around.

Steve laughs, tentatively placing a hand on my arm. “It’s alright, Pone, no one’s here.”

“Oh, oh great.”

“You don’t uh-” He shoves his hands into his pockets and bounces on the balls of his feet. “You don’t think we made a mistake, do you?”

I give him a grin. “I’m over mistakes, Steve.”

We hear a distant cheer from inside the building. Soda’s plea earlier this morning rings through my mind, and I know I have to keep my promise. I turn back to Steve.

“Maybe we should head back in again,” I say.

He sighs and shakes his head. “Actually, uh, I think I’ll head home.”

“Oh.” I try to hide the disappointment in my voice. I fail.

He immediately notices and brings his palm to my cheek, caressing me with his thumb. I nearly lean into the touch, but I try to refrain. “Come by my room after tonight. We can talk as much as you want.”

I’m fighting the urge to snake my arms around his neck, to pull him close and plant kisses all over his body. “Hopefully, we can do a bit more than talking, Steve.”

He wrinkles his nose and I nearly fall in love all over again. “Do you talk to all your guys like this?”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s not bad,” he says.

“Then yes, and it tends to work. Thank you for stroking my ego.”

He takes my hand in his. “Come by tonight.”

I laugh. “You don’t have to ask me again, Steve. How desperate of you.”

He leans closer. “You didn’t answer the first time.”

“Careful,” I say. “Someone might see.”

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” My voice comes out like a whisper, like a soft breath. I see a certain light in his eyes and my heart lifts. “I’ll be there tonight if you promise to stick around tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” He asks.

“Don’t leave,” I plead. “Please don’t. Let’s figure something out. I was getting bored in New York anyways, I’ve been wanting to travel around the country like I used to. Maybe you could join me.”

“At least take me out on a date first,” he says.

“Shut up. Answer me.”

His fingers are in my hair again, then he glances at my lips and into my eyes. “Yeah, Pony.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

We probably look like dumb kids smiling at each other, but no one’s around to see us. So I take a risk and kiss him again, a shorter one, just a tiny peck before I let him go. And I hold onto his hand one more time, a little squeeze before I step back.

“I’ll see you tonight, Pony,” He says. A little kick in his step as he moves backwards.

“I’ll see you, Steve,” I say back, nearing the entrance to the building.

Eventually, he turns around and disappears into the night. I give him one last look before heading inside.

Soda and Sandy are having their first dance, swaying together to some slow music and laughing. I take in the entire scene before me, all the balloons and the colors and the couples and the sound. 

And none of it feels bitter to me.


End file.
